Hi,

Chapter 8

I got all ready, carefully concealing the dark circles that had been forming under my eyes from a week's worth of stress over everything happening at school. I applied mascara, making my bottom lashes look dramatic, and went a little overboard with blush on my cheeks and nose. A pretty pin holds my hair back, matching the color of my dark green crop top. I slipped on my baggy black pants and my trusty Converse. I should feel confident; I should feel ready to go. But instead, fear gnaws at me.

June begged me to come, and I didn't want to leave her alone with Marco. He seemed like bad news, and I couldn't bear the thought of her getting hurt.

I know these are all excuses, and ultimately, I'm the one making the decision. So, I decided to go. Yes, I'm scared, but also excited. It's amazing how quickly you can become accustomed to your comfort zone. Now that I'm stepping out of it, I don't feel like going back. People who say they dislike attention are liars. That's just plain truth. 

But then, there's William. As much as I hate to admit it, I know deep down this isn't love. I care about him—probably more than I should—but it's not the kind of care that makes you want to stay, to build a future together. I've been lying to myself for a while, trying to force something that isn't there, hoping that maybe if I keep pretending, it'll feel real. But it doesn't. And it won't.

The thought of ending things fills me with dread. I'm terrified of how he'll react—how hurt he'll be. He doesn't deserve that, and I hate the idea of being the one to break him. I care about him, truly, but not in the way he needs me to. I can't keep pretending. It's not fair to him. And it's definitely not fair to me.

But I can't do it tonight. The weight of it all presses down on me, and I know I'm not ready to face the consequences just yet. I keep telling myself I'm waiting for the right moment, but maybe there's never a right moment for this kind of thing. Maybe I just need to be honest—not just with him, but with myself.

My phone vibrates in my back pocket. It's June, telling me they're waiting for me in the driveway. I take a deep breath and gather what little courage I have. I climb into the car and slide into the passenger seat next to William. I kiss him on the cheek before buckling up, then reach back to hold June's hand in the back seat.

The party's at some random kid's house—someone none of us really know—but it's close, just a ten-minute drive from mine. June snatches the aux cord and blasts "505" by the Arctic Monkeys, but I barely register it. I'm staring out the window, watching the warm glow of house lights flicker by, trying to ground myself in the here and now. But it's useless. No matter how hard I try to distract myself, my thoughts slip back to him.

Nathan.

It's infuriating how easily he takes over my mind, how I can picture every detail as if he's right in front of me: those dark, intense eyes that seem to see through everyone, his messy dark brown hair that always looks effortlessly perfect, and that jawline—sharp enough to cut glass. I hate that I think and register all of these things about his appearance. Even the slight crook in his nose, probably from some fight or accident, somehow just adds to his maddening perfection.

I hate that he has this kind of effect on me, that he's always lurking in the corners of my thoughts. It's like he's hunting me, invading my mind without permission. And the worst part? I can't stop it.

"We're here!" June announces enthusiastically.

I snap out of it. Ugh, why can't I stop being so pathetic? We exit the car, and I can feel the waves of music vibrating in my chest as we approach the house. Once inside, it's as if I become part of the pulsating rhythm of the song. I quickly scan the room, catching myself looking for someone in particular.